SledgeHammers
by Lyle Brown
Summary: When Cordy and Angel interfere in a kidnapping plot, Angel runs off to Chicago in the aid of a young girl. Cordy and Gunn/Buffy and Spike follow in his wake.
1. Trailer- Time Out of Mind

  
THE FOLLOWING PREVIEW HAS BEEN APPROVED FOR   
ALL AUDIENCES   


_They hated each other for years..._   


Buffy whirled around and hit Spike on the nose. "Oww!" he roared, grabbing his face. He jumped up, kicked the Slayer in the chest, and then grabbed his head in pain as the chip went off. This was pretty good, Buffy thought. She hit him, he got hurt. He hit her, he got hurt. All right, she got hurt as well, but it was still amusing...   
(...)   
The two fighters were oblivious to the outer world until a noise to the right of them caught Spike's attention. "What the..." he said, abruptly breaking off the uneven fight.   
(...)   
"A tornado!" Buffy screamed. "Run!"   


_But then time changed everything..._   


The Slayer now took in her surroundings with much the same wondering expression on her face as he must have had moments earlier. "Where are we?" she finally said, staring at the walls in front of them.   
"I don't know..." Spike answered. "But it seems kinda familiar."   
"Not to me it doesn't," she threw in. "Enlighten me."   
"It looks kinda like..." He knew how this was going to sound. "Like Rome."   
(...)   
Buffy had learned enough in high school to know that those were numbers, and that it was most likely a date, or year. She didn't know what exactly the number was though. "Spike, what does it say?" she asked. Before Spike could reply, the butcher snatched the parchment out of his hands.   
"Hey!" said Spike, but Buffy pulled him back, out of the shop.   
"Leave it," she said. "Did you get the number?"   
"Yeah. It's 1356."   


_A vampire and a slayer..._   


"Slayer," Spike said to her back while she was scanning the room for a place to sleep. "Yeah?"   
"Promise not to stake me while I'm sleeping."   
"One snore and you're dust." Buffy replied. She stood in the corner the furthest away from Spike. There she lay down on her side on the sandy, uneven stone floor, and tried not to feel the cold of the morning, or the hardness of her bed.   
"I'm a vampire. We don't snore."   


_Forced to work together..._   
__ __

Now it was Buffy's turn to be astonished. "What? You had the same dream?" The thought of Spike and Angel in each other's arms blocked out all her other thoughts. She gasped.   
"Well, yeah. I don't think it was exactly the same dream, but the words… in my dream Dru was saying them. She was saying…" he struggled to remember exactly. "To go home we have to…"   
"Cross enemy lines."   
"Yeah, yeah, that's it." Spike said. "Follow the stars beyond enemy lines, till the sun and the moon meet—"   
"Merge." Buffy stated.   
"Merge. And burn a hole into time."   
(...)   
"We will find a way out of here, you know," he said between sips. She wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to her. His words were spoken with confidence though and managed to reassure her a little. "Yeah, I know," she said.   
(...)   
"Now that we know the date," he continued, "we could try to find out which wars are going on and, well, move behind enemy lines. Might be a step on the way home."   
"Far too optimistic," Buffy thought. She replied incredulously: "You want us to what, purposely go into a Middle Age war zone?"   
"Can't as be as bad as a twentieth century one. And I've seen those. 'Sides, it's the only possibility I can think of. Got any better ideas, Slayer?"   
She had to admit that she didn't. "Let's just go eat," she said dejectedly.   
(...)   
"I don't understand you." Buffy said, gently freeing her sleeve from the girl's hand.   
The girl closed her eyes and muttered a few words that sounded different from the Italian Buffy had heard around her all day. Then the little one spoke again. "You seek the Slayer." 

_To find their way home..._

There Spike was, despite the chains that bound him doing an admirable job of dodging the blows of a vampire in a black robe. Another vamp lay knocked out at their feet. Wow, Buffy thought. "He really can fight. Even with chains on."   
(...)   
"What's happening?" Spike asked. He was lying with his back towards the action and trashed his legs some more in an attempt to get free.   
"Lie still." Buffy told him, as she knelt by his side and started to undo the chains.   
"Buffy? How did you know? Why did you…?"   
"Why did I come?" Buffy asked, roughly freeing his hands and legs. She put out her hand and helped him up, and as he stood facing her, he said softly, "Yeah."   
Buffy avoided the gaze of his blue eyes, questioning her in wonder and happiness. "I don't know," she said off-handedly. "I heard things were wrong, and I didn't think I could just leave you to get, well, buried."   
Spike was still staring at her. He had never thought she'd find out about his predicament, but he had even less expected her to come and get him out of it if she did find out. And here she was, and she'd done both.   
"Thanks," he said earnestly, while trying to restrain the emotion in his voice. He felt like lifting her chin, making her eyes meet his, and kissing her until the world ended, but he thought she probably wouldn't be charmed, so he didn't. And as for worlds ending…   
"We need to get out of here." Spike said urgently.   
(...)   
Buffy had wrapped her arms around Spike's middle and held on for dear life at first, but as the horse had settled into a more even trot after a while, she relaxed a bit. She leant her head against Spike's back and sighed, tired as hell, but content with the feeling of having him close, and the knowledge that he was still there with her. "Slayer?" Spike at last broke the mix of silence and clattering hoofs on the road.   
"Hm?"   
"Whaddaya say we stick together for a while now?"   
"I say yes." Buffy smiled. 

**June's**   
**_"Time Out Of Mind"_**

_Where time changes everything._


	2. Trailer- I'll Most Likely Kill You in th...

  
The following preview has been approved for   
all audiences 

LAST SEASON . . . BUFFY DIED (DUH!) 

  
  


"Slayer!" Spike awoke with a start. He blinked a few times, momentarily disoriented. "What was that all about?" he wondered aloud.   
  


For the past one hundred forty seven days, his dream was a constant. Well, it was more of an unwanted memory that consistently replayed in his head while he dreamed, and it always ended the same way; Buffy's bruised and broken body sprawled lifelessly on the ground. The dream plagued his mind day and night, never allowing him a moment's peace. Only, this time, the dream had been different. So completely different, in fact, that Spike found himself climbing out of his bed. He grabbed his duster, and raced out the door of his crypt. He wasn't exactly sure himself why he was going there.   
  
  
  
  
  


THIS SEASON . . . NOW SHE'S BACK, BUT THINGS AREN'T THE SAME 

  
  


Wreckage. Complete and total carnage. Broken tables, chairs, shattered bottles, peanut shells, body parts all over the place. Demons unconscious, dead, and dismembered strewn all over the floor. In the middle of all this chaos, Spike and Xander, both a little worse for wear, were slumped back-to-back on the floor.   
  
  


THEY REALLY AREN'T THE SAME!!! 

  
  


Xander continues. "Demons piss me off. So do women. Women are demons."   
  


"You're just now figuring that out, mate?"   
  


Xander waves him off and plunges on forward. "No, I think I'm on to something here! Look at the women in Sunnydale! The Hellmouth is a convergence point for crazy, man-hating females. No man or demon is safe from their wrath. They come in with their short skirts and perfect hair and turn us into whipped little sissy boys. None of us are safe! Their goal in life is to turn us into brooding, hair gel using pansies!"   
  


Spike touches his hair and a look of horror crosses his face. "I must be drunker than I thought. You're making sense."   
  


"We have to do something, Spike! We have to take our manhood back!"   
  


"I think you're right, mate."   
  


"You know, it's all Dead Boy's fault. He came into town all dark and mysterious, with his annoying ability to attract every human within a fifty mile radius."   
  


Spike imitates Angel. "I'm all caring and strong, yet sensitive to a woman's needs. I'm single, brooding, and available."   
  


Xander takes over imitating Angel as well. "Feel free to cry on my shoulder, take off my shirt, bend me to your will, and don't worry about me trying to get into your pants because (gasp), I'm cursed and cannot." Xander stops and looks up. "How can I compete with that?" He sighs. "Man, I need a drink."   
  
  
  


OK, WELL MAYBE SOME THINGS ARE THE SAME, BUT SOMEONE IS MISSING . . . 

  
  


She studied her pile of animals for a moment, then looked around and frowned. She didn't feel right. At the moment, one question was plaguing her head. It wasn't How did I get back here? She knew the answer to that. It wasn't Why am I back here? Her friends wanted her back. No, this was the type of question that tackles a person at a random moment when they are completely baffled.   
  


She looked at her bed again and shook her head. Finally, she asked her unblinking friends. "Where is Mr. Gordo?"   
  
  
  


NO, SOMEONE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THAT . . . 

  
  


"Where's the whelp?" Spike asked. 

"Xander was here! During all of this! Where is he?" Willow asked. She grabbed Cordy's shoulders. "Where is he?!?!" 

Spike searched the room with his eyes. "Where's Xander?" 

Dawn looked around again and turned to Anya. "Where's Xander?" 

Tara looked at Anya. "Where's Xander? 

Dawn looked around again and turned to Anya. "Where's Xander?" 

"WHERE . . . IS . . . XANDER?" Spike yelled. 

Anya looked at Tara. "I don't know." She nonchalantly added, "He caught me and Giles playing tonsil hockey and ran out."   
  
  
  


AND SOMEHOW EVERYONE ENDS UP IN L.A. 

  
  


"What kinda idiot knocks on a hotel's front door?" Cordelia yelled.   
  
  
  


IS THIS GOING TO DRIVE ANGEL MAD? 

  
  


Angel slowly approached the vile creature, an ax gripped firmly in his hand. "I'll give you one chance. Give it up without a fight, and you won't become friendly with the ax."   
  


"ANGEL!" Cordelia screamed. "Put that ax down this instant!" She stomped over, snatched the ax, and gave him The Look. Angel frowned.   
  


Spike chose that moment to enter the room. Giving the two as innocent a look as he could muster, he crossed the room, whistling a jaunty tune he had heard from Xander, and entered the kitchen. As the kitchen door closed, laughter erupted.   
  


Angel grabbed the ax back from Cordelia. "That's it. Soul or no soul, I'm sending them straight to hell."   
  
  
  


AND WHAT'S UP WITH THE ROBED GUY? 

  
  


The figure howled in frustration. "Stupid spoon. I should just burn it." It lifted the spoon and moved toward the fire lit under the cauldron. Suddenly, the spoon clattered to the floor again as the strange figure clasped its head in pain. "All right, all right! I get it!" The figure yelled. It looked around its dark, dank abode, then at the still swirling contents of the cauldron, laughing maniacally. "Soon. It's happening SOON!"   
  
  


I'LL MOST LIKELY KILL YOU IN THE MORNING   
by KELLEY AND SHELLEY   
at   
www.fanfiction.net! 

Rated W for Warped. 

Are YOU ready? Can you handle it? 

  



	3. Prologue - A Game In Escondido

  


Disclaimer- I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel. I only own the characters I've created. If by some strange coincidence you find you'd like to use these characters, all you need is to ask. 

Summary- When Cordy and Angel interfere in a kidnapping plot, Angel runs off to Chicago in the aid of a young girl. Cordy and Gunn have problems of their own chasing after him, and Buffy and Spike are hired to stop him from reaching a certain point in the windy city. 

Rating- '**R**' for sex, language, violence and character death. What else? 

Genre- Action w/ a little bit of everything on the side (sans Angst) 

Spoilers- Possible for seasons 1-6 Buffy / 1-3 Angel 

Ships'- S/B, C/A in the beginning, eventually C/G (yeah, that's right baby), and a little bit of W/T 

Time- AU post-seasons five for BtVS and two for Angel. Glory was defeated without a hitch and Academy Award Winner®(TM) Joel Grey wasn't able to reach/cut Dawn. 

Author's Note- This fic takes place directly after The Scoobies and Angel Investigations have finished defeating their latest heavies. For Buffy and friends it was a wizard called The Gate Keeper and for Angel's crew it was a race of evil Malhalla demons. Several times, references are made to these completed missions and certain events that happened within them. Don't worry about this, as you aren't missing anything. Also, Willow _can_ control her magic habits here. This isn't going to be an angsty-type story. 

I've got enough angst (badly) beta-reading Nymph Du Pave's _Absolution_. Yeah, so I'm a plug piggy. Plug, plug. Plug, plug. 

Me- body_chunks@hotmail.com   
___________________________________________________________________________________________   
  
  
  


_Warehouse 038 _: Escondido Junction -- San Diego, California 

  
  
  
  
  


"All right, last game. Five-card draw, I deal. No wilds." 

Two smooth, well-groomed hands folded expertly over the cards, with four pairs of eyes watching closely. 

On the opposite side of the table, Benton, an ugly gangster with a .45 Hardballer, grunted impatiently. "Deal already!" 

Ace sighed, his eyes roaming the surrounding area one last time. He was in a large, gray, barren warehouse, deep-golden shafts of light streaming through three windows on the west side. _Almost twilight_, he noted mentally. The windows on the east and west sides were the only means of escape were one inclined to do so, besides the front shutter. The tall back door was rusted shut and would have to be torn open and replaced. The front shutter they'd come in through, though not an impossible escape route, was guarded by three more thugs. 

They were situated around a heavy, wooden card table; they being himself (Ace Whitley, paramount con-artist, card player and sharp-shooter on all of the Westside), Trevor Benton (leader of the Los Angeles based demon-fighting gang, "Aranos Warriors") and his two thugs, whom Ace had come to refer as Stoner and Stench, respectively. He'd never been informed of their real names and hadn't cared to ask, but every time he saw them one had a distant, cloudy look in his eyes and the other smelled absolutely horrid. Both had probably been through one too many rounds with a demon. The card table itself was to the far left of the warehouse, with Ace's Porsche Nine-Eleven parked about ten feet behind where he now sat. 

Ace's associate, Hobb, whom he had traveled with quite a ways to recover some 'stolen property' for his boss, waited in the Porsche. 

Other than the aforementioned items, persons and two steel-covered bulbs dangling from cords attached to the ceiling far up above him, the warehouse was empty. 

Suddenly Benton leaned across the table until their faces were inches apart, and he glared at Ace. "We ain't gettin' no younger, man. Deal." 

Ace blinked and smiled, realizing he'd been shuffling the cards all that time. He quickly cut the deck in half and dealt out four hands, five cards each. "Just in case you'd forgotten Mister Benton, I win this round and you give me the information I need." 

The bald man nodded and glowered at him. "I know what I have to do, 'Ace'." 

He almost flinched at the mocking tone in Benton's voice. Trevor intoned his name like a slap in the face. Ace just hoped the black man didn't reach to slap him with the .45. 

Ace ran his left hand through his rich, dark hair and picked up his cards. He smirked. Two Jacks, clubs and spades; an eight, also of spades; a three of diamonds and the Queen of Hearts herself. 

Removing the eight and the three, he threw them next to the deck. "Two." 

His three opponents also put in their cards, Stench and Stoner both taking three and Benton only one as Ace took two from the top. 

Watching the others closely as they took their replacements, he glanced down at what he'd taken. Another Jack, this time of hearts, and a Queen of spades. He grinned, at least until he heard Benton chuckle deeply. He looked up; the gangster was moving his cards around. The other two didn't look like they had anything, but he knew you could rarely tell by an expression alone. 

"You ready to lose, boy?" Benton snickered as he looked up at Ace, despise easily read in his eyes. 

He was bluffing. Ace Whitley knew Trevor was bluffing. 

"Drop 'em." 

The deal was simple. Ace arrived in his Porsche with his partner, who was to remain inside the car for the duration of the game. He would play four rounds with three-to-one odds. If he won all four Trevor would divulge him in what he knew about the Boss's little girl and her whereabouts. If he lost... well, Ace never lost. He'd won the last three of four rounds. 

Stoner sighed lazily and tossed his cards in front of him. "Nothing. I've had better luck with the cops, man." 

Stench, on the other hand, was grinning now. "Hah, a pair!" His first that night. He dropped the useless cards to the pile and turned his pair up on the table. Twos, spades and clubs. 

Benton looked at his lackey in dismay. "I hate you sometimes, d'you know that?" 

Stench put his hands in the air. "What I do?" 

Ace knew now was the time to show what he had. He brought the five cards to the table. "Three of a kind and a pair... How 'bout it, Trevor?" 

The big man shook his head and looked troubled. "Well, I guess I'd have to tell you what you came here to know..." Then he moved his head up and stared into Ace's eyes with unmitigated glee. "If I didn't have a straight flush." He placed his cards on the wood for the three others to see. 

Ace eased forward and inspected them. Sure enough; seven, eight, nine, ten and a Jack of diamonds. Trevor's mood had changed completely. If Ace didn't know any better he'd say the man looked downright easy going. 

"C'mon, Ace." Trevor said with a genuine smile. "You lost. Get in your ninety-thousand dollar car and move it out of my place, huh." 

Ace Whitley leaned back and returned the smile. "I suppose you want me out of Escondido too, eh?" 

"Uh-huh, now that you mention it that don't sound too bad." The three Aranos members laughed. 

The self-proclaimed king of cards leaned farther back in the chair so it stood on two legs and placed one foot on the edge of the card table. Trevor's boys tensed up and their hands dropped to their side arms. Trevor's smile melted into a frown. "Yo', man. What are you-" 

Ace's smile grew and he laughed, interrupting Benton. "I'm sorry Trevor, but I don't lose. I never cheat and I often welsh, but I never, _ever_...lose." 

Trevor realized too late what was going down. As he was reaching for the Hardballer, Ace had his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He pulled out two Colt Pythons and pushed off from the table. The chair slid backwards as he fired two rounds to his sides at Stoner and Stench, both bullets tearing into their stomachs. 

Trevor stood up, knocking his own chair back on the floor and raising the Hardballer in the air. Ace continued sliding backwards in the chair and blowing lead from his Colts, the two gang members jerking as if from bolts of electricity. 

His chair hit the side of the Porsche and Trevor pulled the trigger, blowing out the window next to Ace's face. Ace screamed and flipped backwards onto the hood, two more bullets whistling by him. He looked behind the car momentarily to catch sight of the three guards at the front shutter. One was calling for back-up on the radio while the other two were running towards him, guns rising in the air to get a bead on Ace. 

Another bullet slammed into the metal make of his Porsche and he cried out again. This wasn't going as he'd wanted it to. Ace dropped down on the other side of the car and heard two bodies slump to the floor at the same time; Stoner and Stench. He could just barely make out the sound of Hobb inside of the Porsche, and fleetingly wondered what his associate was doing. Ace hoped he'd find out soon enough. 

He craned his neck and twisted from the waist-up sideways, letting the empty Colts clatter to the cold stone floor and reaching again into his jacket, pulling out a nine millimeter Glock. Ace met desperate eyes with the first guard running at him just before he shot him off his feet, the other man's bullet grazing the floor to his left and ricocheting into the driver's side door of his car. The body hit stone and didn't move. The other guard strafed to the left and nicked the top of Ace's right shoe with his last shot. Ace returned with two bullets that grounded the gangster permanently. 

His anger flared more at the thought of his Porsche being ruined and Ace tried to pick off the last man at the entrance (now screaming into his radio) but his bullet nicked the shutter door above the gangster's head, giving the him enough time to jump outside. 

He heard a click from a few yards behind him and realized Trevor had reloaded and was nearby. Ace still had thirteen bullets left in the Glock; he wasn't moving from the safety of the Porsche. Ace slid next to the front wheel so as not to be seen underneath the Nine-Eleven and waited for Trevor to come around the side. 

Suddenly a heavy bang came from above him. The big man had taken a running jump onto the roof of his car and was now standing on it, .45 Hardballer trained directly at him. Trevor's hell-bent and wild-eyed appearance gave Ace a sense of deja' vu'. His breath escaped in heavy gasps and he shuddered. "You stupid sonofabitch. I was gonna let you live." He flexed his fingers around the gun and kept a dead-aim on Ace. "Nobody had to die." 

Ace stared back, not saying anything. Benton's fingers tightened on the trigger and his eyes glittered. The black man didn't expect a dozen tiny bullets to rip through the roof of the Porsche into his legs and pelvis. He jolted in pain and fired the gun, blasting Ace in the shoulder. Blood spilled from Benton's mouth and the bald man fell from the top of the car, landing four feet away from Ace. 

The card-player shakily turned his head and looked at the red liquid splattered on the cement._ My blood_. The bullet had torn a line straight through his shoulder. Ace covered the hole with his right hand. Shocked at the sight of his own blood and feeling the warm elixir running along the palm of his hand as he pressed it against his shoulder, Ace didn't notice the pain as being any more than a dull throb. 

The car door opened and two long legs slipped out, followed by the rest of the woman. She was a tall blonde with blue eyes, strikingly beautiful and of obvious German descent. She blew smoke from the Encom MP-45 and winked at Ace before kneeling over the fallen 'warrior'. Ferocity running through his veins, Ace stumbled to his feet and approached Benton and the woman. "Good timing as usual, Mrs. Hobb. Thanks." 

She waved a hand nonchalantly in the air, still watching the crawling form of Benton with a curious smile. 

Ace fired another round from the Glock (his left hand off from its mark) at the entrance to make sure nobody decided to jump back in. Then he came along side Mrs. Hobb and stooped down over the body. He turned Benton over and the man coughed more blood up, enough to streak down his face. 

Ace nodded to his shoulder and smiled. "See? Nothing but a flesh wound. It'll heal. Hurts, but it'll heal." His features grew darker in the next instant and he shoved his forefinger into a wound at the base of Trevor's gut. "My car, on the other hand, will have to have a make-over. I could be replacing those parts for weeks!" 

Trevor didn't catch most of what his adversary had said as he coughed out a scream of pain. Ace withdrew his finger and took his right hand from his shoulder, slamming a fist into the bigger man's face with every word he said. "NEVER-FIRE-AT-THE-RIDE, MAN!" 

He stopped when he heard Trevor's nose crack and thick red liquid fountained from his nostrils. Mrs. Hobb leaned over and gently pulled open the lapel of the dying man's jacket. As though she had foreseen it, a card rested there. She pulled it out between her finger and thumb, and Ace caught some scribbled writing on it. _The girl..._

He brightened considerably and clasped a hand to Trevor's cheek. "Thanks for playing the game, hombre. But we gotta go now." 

He and the woman stood up, Mrs. Hobb turning and walking briskly for the car. He was going to follow her when he felt a tug on his Dockers. He'd have to get a new pair now. Ace looked down to meet eyes with Trevor. 

"I-it...it didn't have to, ohhh..." He groaned and screwed up his face in pain, fighting an internal battle for the strength to continue. "...be, this way. No-no one had...to...die. Uugh." 

Ace smiled sympathetically. "On the contrary, Mister Benton. Most everyone has to die. That's what makes the game so much fun to play. Last man standing, you know." 

"Or woman," a cultured Austrian accent came from within the car. 

Ace nodded back at the Porsche. "Or woman," he said, just loud enough for Trevor to hear as he pocketed the Glock. He turned and walked back to the car. Taking the Colts from off of the ground and sliding into the driver's seat, Ace shut the door with a _clunk_. He tossed the empty weapons in the back and rubbed the steering wheel lovingly. "Sorry about all the ruckus baby, I'll get you fixed faster than you can say 'Ace of spades'." 

"Um, Ace?" 

He rolled his eyes and turned to the blonde to explain that it was just an expression of speech, but she wasn't looking at him. Hobb appeared to be transfixed on the front entrance. As Ace reached for the seatbelt he looked back. 

Two gang cars blocked the entrance and an entire troop of Aranos members were starting to pour through, guns raised as they saw the five bodies sprawled across the floor. 

Hobb turned to him. "It might be time to leave now." 

"Yeah." He nodded, grabbing the keys dangling in the ignition slot and twisting them. "But I'm not going that way." 

She frowned at him. "We can make it." 

He nodded. "Maybe. But I'm not putting my baby through that." 

The engine revved and Ace jostled the car into reverse, just as the first few shots rang out. "Oh baby, oh baby, oh baby, you're gonna be all right." Ace cooed to his vehicle. 

They fishtailed around until they were facing the north side of the warehouse, the gangsters shooting at them from the west while a bloody card-scene remained behind them to the east. "Oh baby, baby, baby." Ace slammed his foot down on the accelerator and ducked. Mrs. Hobb did the same. 

Bullets broke through the windows and punctured the metal frame, glass sprinkling down onto their heads. They ran over something on the way (_Trevor_), the Nine-Eleven thumping heavily as it crushed the obstacle underneath it. Ace waited until they'd passed the entrance, and a second later they rose back up, Hobb quickly fastening her safety belt as she got a clearer view of the tall door they were heading quickly towards. Ace noted a few bullets had popped into the driver's side door, creating indentations. 

Ace jerked the steering wheel to the right until the car swerved in the same direction. He bit his lower lip to keep from screaming as bullets crashed into the trunk and rear windshield, ripping into his baby's leather upholstery. Suddenly Ace jerked the steering wheel all they way to the left, and Hobb grabbed onto her seat. The car, now unbalanced, lifted off its right wheels, leaving them spinning in the air on only two tires. 

"Baby, baby, c'mon baby, do this for Daddy," Ace whispered, his black bangs falling into his face. 

Ace and Hobb moved their weight to the left and the car followed suit, skimming almost completely onto its side. They saw sideways through the window that the broken door was getting oppressively closer and closer as they traveled on the edge of Ace's Porsche at almost seventy miles per hour. 

"Yes, baby, yes, Yes, YES!!" 

The Porsche smashed into the door, sending shockwaves through the vehicle and its two occupants, and for a split millisecond Ace feared the Porsche would simply recoil off the door and send them spinning, crippled, back into the fray. But the door give way an instant later, its rusted metal hinges obliterated from the force against it. What was left of the gray metal door bounced solidly off of the right side of the car and landed outside of the warehouse in a twisted heap. 

Rubber tires skidded momentarily on the pavement before Hobb and Whitley threw themselves in the opposite direction and, with its steel skeleton groaning, the Nine-Eleven slammed its right wheels to the earth. They both cracked their heads on the bullet riddled roof as the Porsche came back down. It took Ace a moment to regain control of his car. Luckily, none of the tires had been shot by the gangster's or blown out by their escape. As it was, his shoulder throbbed incessantly and a blistering headache was forming in the center of his brain, but at least the sounds of gunfire from the crowd behind them were already beginning to dissipate. 

As everything quieted down, the con-artist turned the cd player on, and a light jazz score emitted from the speakers. Ace thanked The Powers That Be that the Aranos gang hadn't damaged his speakers. 

* * * 

Ace and Mrs. Hobb didn't speak again until he had them back on the road and speeding away from the warehouse. They were now passing through Escondido's scenic waterfront industrial area, and the pleasant aromas of the Pacific Ocean began to waft through the bullet holes and broken windows. Ace took a deep whiff and sighed happily, thinking of seafood while trying to ignore his aching shoulder wound until they could get somewhere where he could have someone attend to it. For now, a white hankerchief from the glove compartment acted as a makeshift bandage. 

"Nice day, huh?" 

Mrs. Hobb pulled the white card from within the pocket of her soft-red suit. Her large blue eyes wandered over it and her lips curled into a gorgeous smile. "It's definitely getting better, Ace."   
  
  
  


Six Hours Later... 

"Whistler, look out!" 

_Huh, Whistler?_

"You son of a bitch!" 

"Drop the gun, pretty boy!" 

Two to his left, one to his right, all three brandishing handguns. The door in front of him was unlocking despite the commotion and his Luger was still in his jacket pocket. _But what about the shotgun? Why don't you get your hands dirty?_

Hotel management was already running down the hall towards them. 

The black man to Ace's right seemed to have mistaken him for someone he trusted enough to protect; he was pointing dual Magnums at the two people flanking Ace's left. Those two either knew who Ace was or had mistaken him for someone they wanted dead anyway. Minor details aside, the pale-skinned peroxide-worshipper in the black leather jacket was keeping a chrome .45 trained at his head and kept shouting in his ear to drop the shotgun. The Brit's female companion kept a gun pointed at the black man, but looked hesitant about pulling the trigger. 

_Hobb, where the fuck are you!?_

"I said drop the shotgun!" _The Brit said that._

"Don't move!" _The girl next to him._

"Put your guns down, now!" _The black guy._

_HOBB, HELP ME!_

"All of you, put your hands in the-" _Security guard for the hotel, never mind, door opening, man on the other side, fits the description._

_From chaos we are born. We wreak destruction, but we do not aim at the targets. WE ARE AIMED._

He raised the shotgun at the dark-haired man, who's eyes widened. 

The blonde girl screamed. Someone fires a gun but it doesn't hit Ace because he doesn't feel anything. 

_Shotgun at his head, just do it. I am a device, used in other people's business. I am a tool. Every tool breaks eventually..._

"Whistler, NO!" 

He pulled the trigger. 

_We are pawns in Chess._

_ We are rocks in slings._

_ We are sledgehammers in lives._   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_FogWood_ Productions**   
**Presents**   
  
  
  
  
  


in association with the** FanFiction.Net_ FicFilms_**   
  
  
  
  
  


(music fades in)   


"You could have a steam train,   
If you'd just lay down your tracks..."   


Sarah Michelle Gellar   


"You could have an aeroplane flying,   
If you bring your blue sky back..."   


James Marsters   


"All you do is call me,   
I'll be anything you need..."   


Charisma Carpenter   


"You could have a big dipper,   
Going up and down, all around the bends..."   


J. August Richards   


"You could have a bumper car bumping,   
This amusement never ends..."   


In a   
Lyle Brown   
_FicFilm_   


"I wanna be...   
Your SledgeHammer!"   
  


SLEDGEHAMMERS   
  


"Why don't you call my name?"   


David Boreanaz   
John Stamos   
Natasha Henstridge   
Lawrence Fishburne   
Taye Diggs   
Imogene Boorman   
Allyson Hannigan   
Amber Benson 

Max Perlich   
as Whistler 

and   
Donald Pleasence   
as Delphious Leonard   


"Ahhhh!"   


Produced by   
**Netscape Composer**   


"Oh let me be,   
Your SledgeHammer!"   


Associate Producer   
**Microsoft© Internet Explorer**   


"This will be my testimony."   


Line Producers/Distributors   
**FanFiction.Net**   
**(More)**   


"Show me 'round your fruit cage,   
Cause I will be your honey bee..."   


Music by   
**A3**

Theme (Sledgehammer) by   
**Peter Gabriel**   


"Open up your fruit cage,   
Where the fruit is as sweet as can be..."   


Edited by   
**Lindsey**   


"I wanna be...   
Your SledgeHammer!"   


Special FX and Makeup by   
**K.N.B.**(TM) **with**   
**Todd Mcintosh and Jeri Baker**   


"Why don't you call my name?"   


Director of Photography   
**Jack Sholder**   


"You better call,   
The SledgeHammer!"   


Based on Characters Created by   
**Joss Whedon**   


"Put your mind at rest!"   


Executive Producer   
**A. Stevens**   


"I'm gonna be...   
The SledgeHammer!"   


Written and Directed by   
**Lyle Brown**   


(music stops) 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 1 - Discovery on I-710/ Hired - ...

  
  
  
  
  
  


_Long Beach Freeway I-710 _: Boyle Heights -- Los Angeles, California 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Angel sighed and rolled his eyes at Cordelia's cries of indignation. "Listen, Cordy," he said calmly, keeping his eyes on the road, "they'll come out. It's not that big of a deal." 

She gave him a look that he was sure could crack stone. "This is a satin Über dress, Angel. You don't get Malhalla demon-blood out of a satin Über dress. It just doesn't happen!" 

Knowing she was probably right, he shrugged apologetically. "Well, at least now you know better than to wear a dress you like when you're acting as bait." 

She squealed shrilly in frustration, causing Angel to take one hand off the wheel and cover his ear. "Yeah? Well maybe you could forget the 'Dirty Harry' complex and actually try talking to them until I get out of the splatter zone!" 

He considered this for a moment, looking out at the darkening city through his window and wondering how he could fit a double-headed battle axe and a katana through a Malhalla defense while trying not to get any blood on Cordy's fashionable designer clothes. "Hmm. No, I think your best plan would be to dress down for a while, until we can work out a new fighting system." 

"Hah! I wouldn't dress down if your after-life depended on it." 

A few moments passed with both occupants staring out at the buildings under and over the freeway. Lights were starting to grow brighter as the last vestiges of daylight seeped along the skyline. It was vanishing quickly in a haze of deep blazing yellow, ruby red and, oddly enough, Malhalla demon-blood purple. The rest of the sky was pinpoints of light in an almost-black navy-blue. 

A black Altima sped past them and Angel blinked, realizing he had actually been zoning while driving. The last time he could remember doing that was just after Woodstock. He'd ended the trip causing a four-car pile-up in the streets of New York, high as a kite and afraid of bunnies for some reason. Maybe the scent of the blood on Cordy's dress wasn't sitting right with his system. 

"Then again, yes I would." 

He glanced at Cordy and frowned. "You would what?" 

"Dress down. If your anti-living depended on it. I'm just lucky it doesn't." She smiled at him. 

He smiled back, and Cordy's gaze drifted to the road beyond the windshield. "Oh no, Angel, watch out!" 

He looked back out the front too late to stop the car from (_dammit, dammit, something in the blood_) slamming into the back of a compact Geo. The miniscule trunk dented inwards and the tail lights busted, tiny glass shards crunching underneath the tires of his Corvette. The Geo swerved as the driver tried to stop the car without backing into Angel. 

He quickly but cautiously slowed the corvette, pulling over on the narrow side of the freeway. The Geo did the same, pulling in at an angle so getting back on the road wouldn't be as much of a hassle. 

Angel unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped out of the Corvette, not bothering to open the door. Cordelia, on the other hand, was going at a much slower pace. She had no interest in being chewed out by an angry Geo-driver stuck in Eastern LA (she knew just as well as anybody else, nobody living in East Los Angeles would ride in such a degrading mode of transportation). 

The driver's and passenger's side doors on the Geo opened simultaneously, causing Angel to slow in his tracks. Two black men stepped out, leaving the car running. Their attire completely clashed with their choice of vehicle. The driver was taller than his passenger, with a long trench coat tied around him, the wide collar concealing the lower portion of his face. What hair he had stood straight in a crew cut. Plumes of smoke rose from within the shade of the collar; he was taking long drags off a thin cigarette. 

His passenger, while smaller, was broader in the shoulders and completely bald. Angel saw from the light inside of the car that he was wearing a white t-shirt under a brown leather jacket and tight denim blue jeans. He was also moving quicker than the tall man to assess the damage. 

"Ah, oh fuck man!" The smaller (and as Angel noticed, only a few feet from them, also younger) man exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Shit! Now what?!" 

The trencher waved his hand in the air to settle his friend. "Relax, everything's all right." His voice was gruff and scratchy, yet cool and somehow suave. 

Angel heard one of them moan as they looked at the damaged trunk. He finally stepped up to where they were and coughed to announce his presence. They turned abruptly from observing the Geo; they both seemed very surprised to see him. _Not just surprised. Something else._

The bald man started forward while the trencher stepped in front of the trunk. "Hey, why don't you watch where you're going!" The smaller, more intense man said this as a demand rather than a question. 

"I know, I know." Angel said, trying to keep him calm. "Sorry about that, I wasn't paying attention to the road. If you give me your address I can-" 

"No, no. That won't be necessary." The older man said, remaining where he was. "I'm sure you're a very astute driver and this was a one time thing." 

_Well, actually twice,_ Angel almost stated, had Cordy not chosen that time to come jogging into their little group. 

"I'm sorry," she began, smiling, "my boyfriend's a real klutz sometimes." The young bald man turned to look at her and Angel noticed her eyes lighting up. "H-hi, my name's Cordelia Chase." 

"Tw-Tanner. Name's Tanner." He smiled back and shook her hand, staring at her dress curiously. 

She looked down and realized that he was observing the purple stains. She crossed her arms defensively. "It's a style." 

Angel shook his head and moved closer to the man at the trunk, putting his hand out. "I'm Angel." 

The trencher was handsome in a rugged manner, with a long face and a scruffy beard. But genuine comely looks definitely went to his cohort, who's smooth dark skin and bright smile would have no problem attracting women. Women such as Cordy. 

"Louis," the man stated gruffly around the cigarette, watching Angel carefully. He kept his hands by the sides his trench coat. "Like I said, you don't have to worry about paying for the damage. You can go on back to your-" 

Another moan sounded in the air, and Angel realized it wasn't coming from either Tanner or Louis. It was coming from the trunk of their Geo. 

For a second, the four of them simply stood their looking at each other with shocked expressions. 

"Leave, now." Louis said, never looking away from Angel. 

The vampire shook his head. "Sorry, I can't do that. Who's in the trunk?" 

"Can't tell you that." 

Angel laughed. "Well, I guess you're going to have to show me." 

Louis's right hand disappeared into his trench coat and he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun. 

"Or not." Angel jumped into the air as Louis pumped the Remington 870 and fired the first blast at where Angel had been. Tanner reached a protective hand over Cordelia and brought out a Llama M-82 semi-automatic pistol from his jacket. 

Angel landed to the left of Louis and kicked him in the side. The trencher lost his balance and tumbled off his feet, the shotgun remaining in his grasp. 

"You're not loaded." Angel said, his eyes flickering between the shotgun and the man on the ground. 

Louis said nothing. 

"Hey, uh, Louis. Why don't we take the girl with us, man? You know, in case we got bored." Tanner didn't see Cordelia's jaw drop. 

"You're not taking her anywhere," Angel stated matter-of-factly. 

As Tanner was watching the two, Cordelia took the opportunity of not being noticed. She clasped the pepper spray in her jacket and slipped it out of her pocket. Then she tapped Tanner on the shoulder. 

When he turned to her she sprayed the contents of the canister into his eyes. 

"Ahhh!" He screamed, aiming his gun blindly at her. "You bitch!" He cried, and pulled the trigger. The bullet was understandably off and was only able to graze her waist, just enough to rip the fabric of her dress. 

Cordy looked down in shock (_I should've grabbed for the gun first_), then jumped him and, putting her hands on his shoulders as he continued to stumble, kneed Tanner in the crotch. 

Louis pumped the gun to load the next shells, and Angel tried to kick it out of his hands. But Louis rolled on the side of the highway, missing Angel's foot and coming up against the protective railing keeping out-of-control cars from falling down to the road thirty feet below. 

Angel leapt backwards and rolled, hopping to the front of the Geo before Louis could release the next blast of pellets from his double-barrels. 

Tanner dropped to the cement, his head against the dented trunk with one hand cupping his groin protectively. He yelled in pain and kicked out his leg, sweeping Cordelia off her high-heel shoes. She fell on her ass, her breath whooshing out in a gasp. 

Louis rose to his feet and ran towards the Geo. Between the small vehicle and the straight line that was I-710, Angel had very few places to hide. 

Cordelia lunged at the gun in Tanner's hand, and they struggled to gain control over the weapon. He suddenly let one hand off the gun and swung at her. His fist was closer to the mark than his bullet had been. He socked Cordelia hard in the chin and she let go of the gun, momentarily stunned. 

Louis jumped around the corner to the front of the Geo, expecting to find Angel on the other side, cowering. He wasn't. 

The car came to life then, its headlights catching Louis in their path. 

Laughing menacingly, Tanner aimed the gun at Cordelia again. "It's been a while since I had some tight pussy." 

The Geo jerked in reverse, the trunk cracking against Tanner's skull. He blinked and dropped the gun in shock. 

Cordy grabbed the M-82 off the pavement and pointed it at him, but a second later Tanner fell to his side, his eyes closed. She sighed and kicked the unconscious criminal in his gut. "It's gonna be a while longer, asshole." 

Inside the Geo, Angel switched the car out of reverse and looked through the windshield. He immediately flung himself below the dashboard and flattened himself against the seats as the sawed-off shotgun roared. It discharged large pellets into the windshield, the glass exploding inwards. The remaining shards formed a concavity over Angel. 

In the next instant he sat back up, taking the steering wheel in his hands. Louis kept the same grim expression on his face as he pumped the next set of shells into the Remington. Angel ran one black shoe over the pedal and pressed lightly down on it. Louis had anticipated the move and leapt into the air, landing on the hood. 

He released the next set of shelled pellets just as Angel kicked down on the accelerator. The sudden burst of speed snapped the trencher off his feet, and he fell face-forward onto the roof of the car. His forehead smacked onto the paint and dazed him. The shotgun left his hand and tumbled sideways onto the pavement. The force of air around Louis carried him over the car, bumping on the trunk before landing on his knees. Right in front of his fallen partner; and Cordelia Chase, who was using the M-82 pistol to keep Louis in his spot. But like Tanner, his eyes fluttered for a second before he dropped backwards, sprawling across the side of the road. 

As soon as he heard Louis's body leave the top of the car, Angel brought the wasted Geo to a halt; just as the front left tire started to grind against the railing. He carefully climbed out of the car through what was left of the windshield. He looked back to the south to see Cordy sitting on the ground, nervously watching the two still forms. 

The shining black pistol trembled in her hands but Angel only saw exhilaration in her brown eyes, any trace of fear now long gone. They had beaten the bad guys again that night. 

Possibly feeling his eyes watching her, Cordelia looked up and met his gaze. They smiled at each other, Cordy breathing erratically from the adrenaline still pumping quickly through her veins. The haze of battle fever began to fade away from Angel's mind. 

Suddenly the trunk of the Geo burst open. Cordelia screamed and instinctively fired a single shot from the semi-automatic at the trunk. Angel pinwheeled backwards and fell off the hood. 

A muffled cry of pain came from within the trunk, and Cordy and Angel both remembered now why they had started fighting the two men in the first place. Cordelia got up off the road and rushed to the Geo, praying that she hadn't hit the person inside. 

She skidded to a stop at the car and lifted the metal covering the trunk the rest of the way. Angel came up beside her and looked down. 

Inside of the trunk a small, twelve-year old girl stared back up at them, pain and apprehension in her eyes. She was bound with rope and gagged with a clean white rag. She didn't seem to be harmed, though, other than being left in a seemingly very uncomfortable position. Cordelia reached down and pulled the rag out of her mouth, leaving it tied around her neck. 

"...What are you doing?" The blonde girl asked with tepidity. 

Cordelia smiled warmly. "We're rescuing you." 

Angel reached down and took her by the shoulders. He pulled her up and out of the trunk and tried to stand the girl on her feet. 

"No," she shook her head, "I can't feel my legs. I've been in the trunk since this morning." 

"Why?" Cordelia asked as Angel started to carry her to the Corvette. "Why did these men kidnap you?" 

"You mean you don't know?" The girl looked confused, watching Cordelia over Angel's shoulder. 

"Let's not talk about this now," Angel said, walking faster to his car. "We need to get back to the Hyperion." 

Cordelia was about to agree when one of her heels got caught on Tanner's jacket. She stumbled but managed to stay on her feet. Cordy looked down at the unconscious forms on the side of the road and frowned. "Angel? What are we going to do with these two?" 

Angel gently lowered the girl into the back seat of the Corvette and glanced back at Cordelia and the Geo. "Yeah...all right, do you have your cell phone?" 

"Oh, it's in my purse." She trotted as fast as one could in heels to the car and reached into the passenger side for her black handbag. 

A glint of streetlight sparkled in Angel's eyes as he examined the ropes around the girl. _Well, if we can't take them with us..._

He quickly began to untie her.   
  
  


***Meanwhile...*** 

_Kracker Jack's_: Maple and Elm -- Sunnydale, California 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"This sucks." 

Deep within the white, stucco walls of _Kracker Jack's_, a conspiracy was being unfurled. Buffy Summers sat across from Spike at one of the brightly colored tables in the back of the kiddy restaurant. She was dressed as Daphne from _Scooby Doo_, wearing the blue one-piece that ended at her thighs and a green scarf around her neck. The gaudy red wig continuously slipped down to one side of her face. A yellow slicker rested on the back of her chair, the weather report of probable rainfall now temporarily relieved from her mind. 

"Did you hear, me?" She asked Spike, who hadn't dressed up for the occasion at all. "I said, 'this sucks'." 

"I heard you, pet, I just can't get past the fact that you let 'em slip a big one like this on you. I mean, you should've seen it coming a mile away." 

She stuck out her lower lip and scowled at Spike. "Heartless bastards. All of them. You'd think a saving-the-world celebration would mean more to them than this." 

Spike scoffed and leaned back, resting one arm on his plastic seat. "Oh come off it. How many saving-the-world celebrations are they supposed to go through before it becomes the norm. You'll pardon me if I say it already is." 

"Well _you_ could have at least humored me enough to wear something other than black. I mean, not only do you stick out like a goiter, dressing for a funeral in a youth-oriented place of business, but I swear to God if I have to see that black leather jacket one more time I'm gonna stick a shaft of wood so far up your-" 

"Howdy-doody! I'm KrackerJack Betty, may I take your order?" The annoyingly chipper voice came from her left, and Buffy was afraid to look. She slowly craned her neck towards the voice. 

The body of a female pirate stood next to her, an over-sized plastic head invading her territorial bubble. The plastic cheeks were decorated with tattoos of rainbows, unicorns and naked freckled fairies. It also wore a pink bandana. 

"Since when do pirates say, 'howdy-doody'?" Buffy asked without a trace of a smile on her face. 

Spike broke in before the befuddled pirate could answer. "Listen, Betsy, don't mind Daphne here, she's been showed up by her Scoobies and she's a little on edge. Feminine problems and all that. She wants a 'Blue Whale Burger' with some 'Walk the Plank Fries' and a little 'Pirate's Blood' on top." 

Betty had been nodding up until this point, when she stopped and the plastic head tilted to one side. "Umm, Pirate's Blood'?" 

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. "Ketchup. You've got thirty ridiculous names for every piece of meat and potato in this rotten joint and you can't figure out what to call the ketchup?" 

"But Kracker Jack is a good, happy pirate, and he wouldn't want any of the customers to be frightened by the names on the menu." 

Buffy looked back down to her yellow, laminated menu, which she'd pushed to the side when they had sat down. "You call the milkshakes here 'Seamen's Delight'. We've been too afraid to try that since they opened this place." 

If anything, the big plastic head only looked more confused. Then two hands, one of them holding a pad and pencil, came up to the large, comical cheeks. "Oh no, little pirate girl! Did you get into a scuffle with the Dread Pirate Bluebeard?" 

Buffy, bewildered, looked over to Spike. He hesitantly pointed to his forehead. 

The slayer reached up and felt her own forehead, and the fresh scar running across it. A few days later and the cut would be gone, but the memory of how close she came to losing Dawn _again_ would stay with her. Buffy shook her head and looked back at Betty. "I fell out of my lifeboat, now could you just get the food?" 

The pirate, realizing she was teetering on a fine line, nodded. But before she left she turned to face Spike. "And what did you want?" 

He smirked. "A mug." 

"Full of what?" 

"Air." 

Completely confused, KrackerJack Betty left their table. Spike turned back to Buffy to see the girl in even lower spirits than before, running her palm over the deep cut. He sighed again and rested his pale fingers to his temple. "What's wrong, Slayer?" 

"How did my life get so far out of whack that you would know how to order for me?" 

He frowned. "Owch. If I really thought that was what was getting you so low in the face I'd make like Kojak and book; but somehow I think you're just taking something else out on me." 

Buffy took in a deep breath of air and sat up. "Ah, I think I just need a good night's sleep. I'll be fine in the morning." 

"Pff. You'd be fine in the morning if you got a good night's something, that's for sure." 

"...Have I mentioned that I hate you today? Because I do."   
  
  


* * * 

_Summer's Residence_: 1630 Revello Drive -- Sunnydale, California 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


"Goodnight Tara." 

"Goodnight, Dawny," Tara replied softly, closing and locking the bedroom door behind her. She slid the next three latches shut as well, making sure the exit was securely bolted shut. Once convinced, she turned away and walked down the stairs into the living room. 

Willow was sitting on the couch in a red terry-cloth robe, her hair and skin still wet from the shower. She was munching on popcorn and watching something violent on the television. 

Tara sat down beside Willow, close to the other girl. "I hate doing that to her." 

Willow looked over to her with bright green eyes and smiled. "Who, Dawn? She'll get over it. Once Dawny learns she's never going to be able to leave the house again, I'm sure Buffy will take a few of the chains off the door." 

"And the bars off the windows?" 

Willow giggled. "Let's not get hasty, she isn't Mother Teresa." 

Tara harumphed and nudged her lover with one elbow. "I'm serious. Maybe now that she knows the consequences are so severe, maybe...maybe Buffy's being too harsh. Don't you think?" 

Willow shook her head and brought a piece of popcorn to Tara's lips. "I think Buffy is just being cautious." Tara reluctantly accepted the popped kernel and Willow continued. "Dawn isn't a bad girl, she's just...prone to mass kidnappings. Buffy doesn't want to lose her. And this time she came too close to doing that for Buffy to take any chances. This won't go on forever. Just until the evil forces of the Hellmouth move on to something more easily accessible than Dawn." 

Tara thought about this for a moment and smiled. "You know, you're sexy when you make sense." 

Willow grinned and fed her another piece of popcorn. "Oh yeah? Nahfoo-nahfoo, billy-bob onastick." 

The blonde girl laughed. "Billy-Bob on a stick? You're sexy when you're talking gibberish too." 

As her girlfriend ate another salted, puffy kernel, Willow brushed a thumb over Tara's bottom lip and gave her a salacious wink. "You know, Spike paid good money to get us to skip on that party tonight." 

Tara nodded and leaned into the redhead, placing a kiss on her neck. "P-point being?" 

"Well," Willow started gently pushing Tara away until they were staring eye-to-eye, "I have all this cash burning a hole in my pocket, and I didn't even get to celebrate our vanquishing the Gate Keeper." 

Tara looked suspiciously at her. "So..." 

"So, I want the party to come to me. And seeing as how I've only got one article of clothing on and you have, oh.. at least five, you get to be my stripper." 

Tara's eyes widened. "Here? In Buffy's living room?" 

Willow rolled her eyes and shot the other girl an exasperated look. "C'mon, baby. Xander and Anya are undoubtedly doing something wicked at their apartment, Giles doesn't have the slightest interest in talking to any of us for the next _year_ after what we did to his car, Buffy won't be back for at least a few more hours, if everything goes like Spike wants it to, _and_ the only other person in the house who could possibly stumble onto us is separated from escape by three inches of wood and steel." 

The blonde witch grinned and kissed her, tasting salt on both their lips. "You know, you're sexy when you babble too." 

Willow reached over to the coffee table next to the couch and snatched her tiny purse off the glass. Taking out a five-dollar bill, she shook it in front of Tara's face. "So do I get my strip-tease?" 

Tara groaned. "You'd b-better tip well." 

Willow's eyes lit up and she stuck out her tongue. "Don't worry about that. The money's just an added bonus for you. I tip in foreplay." 

Tara nodded and got up off the couch. "Okay, okay, just realize I'm not easy. I require heavy tipping." 

Her girlfriend sat forward, excited, and smacked Tara's bottom playfully through her jeans. "C'mon woman, shake it!" 

The blonde smiled inwardly as Willow turned off the TV and moved to find something suitable on the radio for the coming act. _The things I do for foreplay..._

* * * 

"Here you go." Betty went unnoticed as she dropped the check next to the two customers, who were deep in conversation. She was about to leave when she noticed the scar above the young girl's forehead. Betty blinked and walked away, telling herself off for that Margarita break. She could've sworn the scar had been longer, more prolific. 

"So, let me see if I've got this straight... you massacred and sucked dry an entire U-boat's worth of German infantrymen and then scuttled 'das boot' just to hide the evidence. But not before stumbling upon Axis plans to strike the then impartial France from within, which you sold to England for more blood and money. Not that it mattered for France." 

Spike nodded, a satisfied grin on his face. "Right. Except for the whole massacred _and_ sucked dry bit. A lot of them I just killed for sport." 

"Oh, riiight," Buffy smiled patronizingly, one palm against her cheek as she listened and watched him in wonder, "it wouldn't be a ruthless massacre without the sport...the game." 

"Bloody right..." He was reaching for his mug when he realized there was nothing inside, and pushed it towards Buffy. "Refill, love?" 

Her gaze drifted down to the plastic container. Unlike other fast-food restaurants, _Kracker Jack's_ offered the customers glasses actually worth drinking out of. Sure there was a ridiculous caricature of Jack, the 'good, happy pirate' on the side, winking and giving a thumbs-up, but Spike didn't seem to mind. If anything he appeared to take a sick pleasure of drinking pig's blood out of the good-natured mugs. 

"...Love? You there, girl?" 

Looking deeper into the cup, she felt a quiet unease emerging, churning in the pit of her stomach. The incandescent lights above curved abstractly in their reflection on the plastic, and it hit Buffy that what was making her so unsettled wasn't the glass itself, but what she saw inside of it. In the reflection. 

"Hey, blondie!" Spike snapped his fingers in front of her face and she recoiled, blinking. 

"Wha-oh, right." She slipped a hand into the red wig and covertly pulled out another packet of blood. 

He snatched it from her and bit off the pliable edge before squeezing the nectar out of its bag and into his mug. "What was that all about?" 

"Hmm? Oh," Buffy shook her head and turned to look over her shoulder. "Nothing," she lied, searching the room with her eyes. They rested on the entrance. Two glass doorways picture-casing the black hole streets of Sunnydale. _Get sucked in and they'll never find you..._

"Spidey-sense getting the best of you, eh?" 

She didn't reply. _Silken brunette hair; smooth, pale skin; an elegant countenance_... Buffy turned back to Spike. "Where's Dawn?" 

The vampire frowned. "Come again?" 

"Everyone skipped out on the party. So who's watching Dawn?" 

Spike shrugged, avoiding her gaze by burying his face into the mug. "Well, I'm guessing Thelma and Louise are on top of it." 

Buffy lunged at him suddenly and slammed the mug down onto the circular plastic table. A black line appeared along the side, and quickly became red as blood started leaking through the crack. Spike was forced to look into her desperate eyes. 

"How can you be certain?" 

He didn't say anything for a long moment, only staring back at her as a way of defense. Soon after though, he deflated and sat back in his chair. "I, uh, I-" 

"Exactly, you can't." She pushed her chair out from under the table and stood up, stripping off the wig and donning her yellow slicker from the chair. It reached her ankles, covering the novelty 'Daphne' outfit. 

Spike was on the verge of saying something, but bit his tongue. He shook his head and rose as well, joining Buffy at her side as she walked towards the exit. 

"Hey!" A loud voice called out harshly behind them. Spike and Buffy turned halfway between their table and the doors leading outside. 

Captain Kracker Jack stared back at them, his plastic cheeks shining in a wax-like brilliance under the fluorescent lights. A scruffy beard and a yellow eye-patch were almost lost under the large black wig. It hung down in exaggerated curls over his face. The neck of the costume was hidden underneath his long blue swash-buckling overcoat, large silver buttons keeping the coat's flaps connected. He and the green parrot on his shoulder seemed to be waiting for something. 

"Oh! Dammit!" Buffy put her palm to her forehead in realization and looked over to Spike. "My purse is in the car." 

"Huh?" His brow fell in confusion. 

"The check...we didn't pay..." Buffy stated, taking a closer look at Jack. He seemed..._different_. 

Spike glanced around the room. Some of the other patrons were beginning to stare at them. A lot of them were very ugly for such young kids. He heard the keys to Buffy's SUV jingling as she withdrew them from the slicker-pocket and held them out for him to take. 

"Go get my purse." She commanded simply, keeping her eyes on the pirate at their table, who hadn't moved. 

"Oh, I see. One little worry in her head and now her royal highness-" 

"Just do it!" She said, looking away long enough to plead with Spike. It was then he saw the worry in her eyes. The sixth sense that Kracker Jack was cooking up more than just 'Blue Whale Burgers' and 'Great White Steaks'. He took the keys and continued towards the exit. He didn't really believe anything was wrong, but he'd let the Slayer have her fun playing detective. 

Her focus once again on Jack, Buffy strode confidently to him. She slowed a little, though, when she noticed the stuffed parrot on his shoulder was following her with its lightly-feathered head swiveling to match her pace. 

"Neat trick...can it talk too?" 

The electronic bird gave a convincing squawk. "Die!" 

Buffy's eyebrows raised in surprise. 

* * * 

Outside, Spike lit a cigarette walking across the parking lot. Taking a quick drag, he watched the alchies filtering out of the bar-and-grill across the street. _Jim's Steak and Ale_ might've been the only bar in history to kick its flies out before the breath of a twelve o'clock shadow. Spike knew it was a good idea, seeing as how they were on the Hellmouth with things such as himself wandering about. But the vampire never liked seeing a bar closing its doors so soon. 

_...kinda' defeats the purpose of wallowing in a bottle if they pull you out before you're good and pissed._

Fond memories of passing out behind the wheel running through his bleached skull, Spike spotted the black SUV parked between two equally dark Gremlins. Twirling the keys around one finger and sauntering to the car in a swank British fashion, Spike realized he was humming the tune of _Cheers_. 

Shaking his head and chastising himself, he opened the driver's side door and got inside. He spent the next few seconds searching for the purse until he found it stuck in between the two front seats. 

Spike was about to slide back out of the car when something occurred to him. He reached inside the purse and pulled out Buffy's cell phone, flipped it open and speed dialed her home number. 

On the fifth ring Spike was getting a little suspicious, but in the next instant the line picked up and the sound of heavy breathing filled his ear. 

"He-hello?" The voice, out-of-breath and vibing an unusual amount of nervousness and kinetic energy from a one-syllable word, belonged to Willow. 

"Where's your head?" 

She gasped. "Excuse me?!" Her tone was flustered and defensive even after she realized who was on the other end. 

"Where-is-your-head?" 

"Spike, what are you implyi-" 

"Where's Dawn? Are you watching her, is she with you? Or has the Little Bit decided to take herself out for another midnight stroll?" 

"Oh! Uh, umm...no, no she's fine, Spike. We said good night to her a while ago...just before Tara locked her in her room." 

Spike heard a mumble on the other end. _Tara_. Next he heard Willow cup her hand over the phone. 

"...wonderin-...-ere Dawn is...no, keep it off...." 

More mumbling, more persistent this time. 

"-aby, c'mon...no, I don't thi-...Spike, what's this about?" 

He puffed out a ring of smoke and watched it swim away. "Nothing. Slayer's got the after-battle jitters. Now she's thinking Kracker Jack's kidnapped Dawn and will no doubt go on a one-eyed murderous rampage with the powers he'll suck out of her." 

"Right...okay, well. Tell her everything's cool beans over here. Dawn's not getting out. I-I'll go check on her anyway though." 

"Yeah, you do that, Red." He turned the phone off and put it back in Buffy's purse. 

_Great night this turned out to be. I spent fifty little green Washingtons four ways just so I could sit across from Buffy and hear her bitch all night long with a hundred runt bastard children screaming for entertainment until eleven forty-five when she gets paranoia extreme and now I'm sitting in between two ugly Gremlins and the smell of gasoline coming from the-_

Spike stopped ranting to himself and became ridged, feeling like a cold stake had just pierced his chest. _What would children be doing in a kiddy restaurant at eleven forty-five at night?_

He slowly turned his head to look out the driver's side window. _And why would their parents be driving Gremlins?_

His gaze drifted down to the car door, then to the keys still in his left hand. _It wasn't locked_. 

Suddenly, a form shifted behind him in the car and Spike felt something being dragged over his face. A plastic bag. It pressed against the pale skin around his neck and tightened. 

And tightened. 

And tightened. 

That's when Spike read the name on the outside of the bag. _eciveD noitatipaceD nomeD._

Demon Decapitation Device. 


End file.
